Swords and Harmonicas
by Macavroche
Summary: Racetrack gets stuck looking after Les for a day while Jack and David are in Brooklyn. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Hey guys, so happy to be writing! I am not the type to write a bunch of fanfics about one thing—I prefer a fanfic for each obsession—so I am happy to now be writing a Newsies fanfiction! Thank you for being so supportive. I will keep writing! And I was having some trouble writing a New Yawk accent, so don't blame me. I know Race isn't entirely in character, but I made him all mad and gruff for the purpose of the story. I promise to make him more Race-like next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. But I may or may not be keeping Spot Conlon captive in my closet.**

"David! David!"

"Whaddya want, Blink?" David asked, turning quickly to meet the anxious boy.

"It's Jack! There's trouble in Brooklyn!"

"Let Spot Conlon take care of it," David replied casually, returning to his poker game with Race.

"It ain't a fight, Davey. Them scabs got the gov'ment in on it. They're gonna do somethin' real bad. You'se gotta come!"

"Okay, okay. Race, watch Les." Les looked up excitedly, but Racetrack looked annoyed.

"What? Why me? 'E's your kid, ain't 'e?" he whined. "Let Crutchy take 'im."

"Aw, c'mon. Just for a while. Take 'im to Sheepshead or somethin'. I don't care. Just don' let 'him gamble or nuthin'."

"Okay, jeez, Davey. I won' break 'im."

"C'mon!" Blink repeated, and he and David rushed out the door of the lodge. Race and Les were alone. Racetrack groaned and sank into his chair. He grabbed some poker pieces, some money from a little bag under his mattress, and left without saying a word. Les, confused but obedient, jumped up and followed him.

He found Race outside the lodge, waiting impatiently. "You'se comin' or what?"

Les ran to follow as Racetrack strolled down the street to the races.

"So where're we goin'?" Les asked, hurrying to keep up with Race's long strides. Race shrugged silently, not slowing his pace. He tried to look indifferent on the outside, but inside he was cursing David Jacobs with all of his might. Of course he had to get stuck with the midget. Kid wasn't worth the papes he sold. Race spat on the ground and lit a cigar.

"Hey, can I 'ave one o' those?" Les asked eagerly. Race gave him a sideways glance and raised his eyebrows.

"Ain't ya too young to smoke?"

"So're you," Les replied bluntly. Racetrack considered for a moment more, then handed Les a cigar. "Careful wit' the fire." Les grinned widely, lit the cigar after about four tries, and proudly stuck it in his mouth. He managed to look tough and innocent at the same time in a way that made Race want to smile. He resisted the urge. Les held the pose a moment more, before turning slightly green and coughing the cigar out onto the cobblestones, hacking and gagging. Racetrack turned on him indignantly.

"Hey! Tha' was a poifectly good cigar! Cost me three cents, tha' did!" Les was too busy coughing to answer.

Race turned on his heel and strode off again. Les wheezed a "Wait fo' me!" and ran off after the older newsie.

"Keep up," Racetrack snapped back, still in a bad mood.

"Well, you can't expec' me to go as fast as ya. Aftah all," he flashed a cocky grin, "I'm only seven."

Racetrack pushed him away in response, but Les was back in an instant, seeming to have recovered from his cigar incident. He sobered suddenly, looking Racetrack up and down.

"Say, act'lly, you ain't much taller than me." It seemed that Les had hit a nerve, because Racetrack growled angrily at him in a most un-Race-like way and sped up again. Les just skipped along with him, humming "King of New York."

Finally Race rounded on him.

"Whassur problem?"

Les turned and looked him straight in the eye.

"Whassur problem? Evah since we starts walkin' ya been all glum and angry-like. You'se usually so easygoin' and cheerful. Wassup?" Racetrack didn't reply, just stuck his hands in his pockets and walked faster.

"We'se almost theah."

There was no conversation for a moment, until Les spoke up again.

"You oldah newsies think I'm weak. Ya think I ain't tough. Well, I can be tough."

Racetrack turned to Les, a sly grin on his face. "Now this I gotta see."

Les got a determined look on his face. "Put 'em up!" he replied, holding up his fists.

"Nah. I'd soak ya."

"You scared?"

Racetrack spun around, anger flashing in his eyes. "I ain't scared."

"You is. You'se scared! Racetrack's a scaredy-cat!" Les shouted to the people surrounding, a huge smile on his face. He was greatly enjoying this moment of power over Race.

Race's cheeks burned red. "Shut up!"

"Race's scared!" Les sang.

Racetrack moved like to punch Les, and the younger boy moved his hands up in defense. However, while the younger newsie was off-guard, Race's hand changed direction and started tickling Les, making the boy curl up into a ball of giggles.

"Hey! No fair!"

Race shrugged. "All's fair in love, war, and New York. Now, c'mon, we'll be late for them races."

The two newsies ran off, shouting and laughing, down the streets of New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, thanks for supporting this story! I just love writing Newsies. Oh, and sorry for the OC, I only brought her in so that Race could have a "goil", if only for a chapter. I promise this won't become a cliché story where "OC girl must become newsie for survival and falls in love with newsie and cheesy stuff happens." Amy will probably never appear again. I just wanted to have a little Race-love-interest-and-Les-teases-him-about-it in there. Tell me if you have any other ideas for what Race and Les can do next! I'm out of ideas. I might introduce Spot, so stay tuned!**

**Disclaimer: See last chapter. I think it covers it, don't you?**

Getting a seat at Sheepshead was tough for anyone. The only racetrack around, it was very popular with upper-class and lower-class people alike. By the time that Racetrack found two seats way in the back, he was cursing Sheepshead and begging God for that permanent box ("soonah rathah than latah") and swearing violently under his breath. Les noticed with a giggle that he looked like he dearly wanted to soak the little old lady with the enormous quilt handbag next to them.

Finally, finally, the race started. Race cheered endlessly-they had gotten there too late to place bets, but it was fun to watch all the same-and Les watched the running horses with an enormous grin on his face. This was the most fun he'd had in a long time. David never let him do anything like this. When the race finished, Racetrack placed a few bets, lost a few races, and generally emptied his wallet bit by bit over the course of the day.

Around noon, the previously patient Les grew bored, and complained hunger until Race grudgingly allowed a few more cents for a sandwich. When Les returned to the stands with his sandwich, he was unprepared for what he saw. Race, and-A GIRL? Les's jaw fell open, and he almost dropped the sandwich.

Race was laughing and talking with a girl, about fifteen years old, with long hair and big eyes. Les approached cautiously, not wanting to disturb their moment-or, more importantly, get whacked upside the wad for disturbing their moment. The girl saw Race looking over her shoulder, and turned to see what he was looking at. She noticed Les coming towards them and gave a bright smile, turning back to Race.

"A friend of yours?" **(A/N: Hey, guys! Guess what I found! The very first dialogue in the whole chapter!)**

Race mumbled something about "watchin' him fo' a friend." The girl turned back to watch Les take the last few steps toward the pair, clutching the sandwich like a lifeline and eyeing Race in a frightened manner. The girl reached out with both arms to greet him-

CRASH!

"Oof!"

Les had tripped over the old lady's handbag and collapsed into the girl's arms. She gave a small gasp, then laughed and helped the small boy to his feet.

"And what's your name, sweetie?"

Les sighed. There it was again. Everybody else got respect for being a newsie. He just got women fawning over him and telling him how adorable he was. He could practically hear people say, as he walked down the street, "Oh, look, there goes the most adorable little boy. Isn't he so small and cute?" People crossed to the other side of the street when they saw Spot Conlon coming. What does it take for a kid to get some good, old-fashioned respect around here?

"Les," the boy replied in his sweetest, youngest voice. Race rolled his eyes. Suck-up.

The girl laughed. "I'm Amy," she replied. Les grinned widely, and kissed the back of her hand. She laughed.

"Oh, please, you needn't do that."

"But ya're a lady," said Les, as though that explained everything.

"And you're a silly little boy," she replied sweetly, tickling his ribs. Les giggled in delight, and Race hid his smile behind a cough. Okay, so maybe the kid was starting to grow on him.

"Well, I have to go. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow? Racetrack? Les?" Amy ruffled the kid's hair, but Les looked troubled.

"I can't come back tomorrow. I'll be wit' David."

Amy's pretty face fell. "Oh. Well, I'll see you, right, Racetrack?"

Race grinned. "Yup. I'll be heah." Amy waved and walked off. As soon as she was gone, Race started watching the race again. Les ate his sandwich quietly and stole glances at Race. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

"Nice goil."

"Yup," Race replied, not taking his eyes off the track.

"Real pretty."

"Yup." A pause.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Ya gonna kiss 'er or what?" Race spun around, his cheeks bright red. Whatever thoughts he had had about the kid growing on him were now far from his mind. Les just sat there, grinning cheekily.

"Why ya-I oughta-"

"Ya promised Davey ya wouldn' hoit me!" Les said quickly. Race's jaw worked frantically for a moment, then he pounced on Les with a fury rivaling Spot's when somebody steals his slingshot.

"H-hey! No fair! No-stop! Ya can't do that!" Les shrieked as Racetrack's tickling fingers wiggled on his sides. He laughed wildly for a few moments, then escaped from Race's clutches and tore off out of the stands, still giggling. Racetrack ran after him, off into the maze of people at the racetrack.

**Well? I kinda like it, if I do say so myself. I love putting in tickling in place of violence in my stories, just because I find it so cute. Les just seems ticklish, don't you think? Macavroche's Story of the Day: I was at a singing competition today and I saw this kid who looked JUST LIKE LES it was scary! He had, like, the same face. And he was about 10. So, yeah. Thanks for reading! Tell me about any constructive criticism! Thanks again!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally, a new chapter! Sorry about that. This is the last one. Well, enjoy!**

CHAPTER 3:

"All roigh', wot now?" Race asked later, after their "day at the races" had been cut short by an angry guard. Racetrack was confident that he could smooth it over later, but he had given in and been "kicked out" for now.

"Now I choose!" Les proclaimed. Racetrack sighed, but consented.

"All right, what d'you want ta do?"

Les thought for a moment. "How 'bout we go to the vaudeville?"

Racetrack dug around in his pockets and found some money. "All right. Haven't seen Medda in a while."

"Boys!" Medda cried, making her way to their table after another successful show.

"Hiya, Medda," Race replied, smiling and kissing her hand. Les grinned up at the Swedish Meadowlark with admiration. Medda turned to him and smiled even bigger.

"There's my little actor! How are you, sweetie?"

"Great!" Les replied, a huge smile on his face. Medda was the only person whom he permitted to treat him like a kid. He liked it when she did it.

"You were swell, Medda," Racetrack said, probably hoping for a free drink for the compliment. Medda was too smart for him, though. Smiling, she whacked him upside the head lightly and sauntered away to another table. Race stared dreamily after her for a bit, his chin on his fist and his elbow on the table, until Les finally snapped his fingers in front of his face.

"Race? Anyone home?" he said laughingly, his eyes sparkling as he teased his friend.

"Shut up," Race scoffed, pushing him away gently. Les laughed and dodged him easily.

"She was pretty good today, though," Les added thoughtfully as they walked back to the lodging house, their backs to the setting sun. Race gave him a half smile.

"Shut up, ya only want ta get in good with her."

Les shrugged. "Wot? She's pretty."

"You'se too young to be thinkin' stuff like that."

"Am not! I'se eleven!"

Race laughed. "Eleven? Way too young."

"Shut up! I'se just as good as you are!" Les replied indignantly.

"Look, kid. We've had this argument befoah, an' I won."

"That's cuz ya cheated!"

"I didn' cheat! Racetrack Higgins doesn't cheat!"

"You did! Ya tickled me!" Les grumped.

"Wot, like this?" Race replied, poking him in the stomach. Les recoiled instinctively, his breath catching in his throat.

"Yeah, like that! Don't do that! It tickles!"

"Yeah, duh," Race grinned, poking him again. This kid was adorable.

"Stoppit! I hate that," Les whined.

"Hmmm..." said Racetrack, considering. "Nah." He started poking Les repeatedly. Les squirmed and clenched his teeth, determined not to laugh.

"Shtop it," he mumbled, desperately trying to keep his mouth closed.

"Nope," Race replied teasingly. Finally, Les could see no other way. He reached out and started poking Race back. Race stopped instantly.

"Hey!" he cried. Les giggled cheekily and wiggled his fingers along Racetrack's torso. Race squirmed and pulled away, running along the street in an effort to keep far away from Les. The younger newsie laughed maniacally and chased Racetrack down the road, home again at last.

**Hope you guys enjoyed this!**


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